


Blistering

by ghermez



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:42:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26439700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghermez/pseuds/ghermez
Summary: Blistering/ˈblɪstərɪŋ/ adjective(of heat) intense.“Would you like some?” Ushijima says.By all means, Sakusa should say no. Should recoil and decline. He should grimace at the mere thought. But his throat tightens and his back arches as he leans across the low table and parts his lips—a humble offering for Ushijima to use those strong, kind hands to feed the fire in Sakusa’s heart. This is Ushijima Wakatoshi, first love, first wet dream, first time Sakusa wet his fingers and pushed them into his asshole, seeking out a pleasure beyond this world.- (from chapter 2)A series of drabbles focusing on a body part and the one man who makes everyone bite their fist.
Relationships: Bokuto Koutarou/Ushijima Wakatoshi, Iwaizumi Hajime/Ushijima Wakatoshi, Miya Atsumu/Ushijima Wakatoshi, Sakusa Kiyoomi/Ushijima Wakatoshi, Shirabu Kenjirou/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 60
Kudos: 137





	1. Bokuto

Bokuto knew he could do anything as long as he had Ushijima’s eyes on him. 

His knees barely felt a twinge from the whole hour he’s been kneeling at Ushijima's feet, his cock feeling so rigid and hot and lovely in Bokuto’s mouth that his jaw was beyond the point of numbness. 

There was no other feeling but euphoria when Ushijima placed his deep, soulful eyes on Bokuto and saw beyond the boisterous facade and into a man who sought love and attention so desperately. 

When Ushijima let out a deep rumble from within his chest, Bokuto’s hands twitched behind his back where he’d promised to keep them. He didn’t dare look away from the sight of that jaw clenching, mouth parting to whisper, “Bokuto-san.” 

Everything about Ushijima lit a fire in his chest, and it all began with that steadying, nearly immobilizing gaze of his.


	2. Sakusa

Sakusa has an unhealthy fixation and while he’s very comfortable with the fact, the intensity with which he  _ observes _ his friend peeling a damned orange is starting to make his cock thicken, painful and pent up, in his pants. 

He clears his throat a little, drawing Ushijima’s attention. Ushijima is halfway through removing the orange peel, his fingers a little wet from the juice but all Sakusa can think of is what those fingers would look like around his cock, covered in Sakusa’s come. He has never wanted to suck fingers into his mouth this maddeningly before. The desire slams into him like a moving train. 

“Would you like some?” Ushijima says. 

By all means, Sakusa should say no. Should recoil and decline. He should grimace at the mere thought. But his throat tightens and his back arches as he leans across the low table and parts his lips—a humble offering for Ushijima to use those strong, kind hands to feed the fire in Sakusa’s heart. This is Ushijima Wakatoshi, first love, first wet dream, first time Sakusa wet his fingers and pushed them into his asshole, seeking out a pleasure beyond this world. 

Ushijima complies with nothing more than a tiny smile. He probably has no idea of the horrifying ideas Sakusa has of his hands; ideas of Ushijima putting those glorious hands on Sakusa, roughening him, tossing him around, maybe giving his cheek a slap or two. 

At the touch of the slice to his tongue, Sakusa lets out an involuntary shudder and a sound so small and needy that Ushijima’s once retreating hand pauses in the air. 

Then, horrifyingly, it returns. Sakusa can’t breathe. And Ushijima trails fingertips across Sakusa’s plump lower lip. Sakusa opens eyes he didn’t know he closed and sighs again when Ushijima continues to trail glancing caresses over his mouth. 

Sakusa doesn’t dare chew. He wants to preserve that slice of an orange, ever so sweet and moist, on his tongue, a placeholder for something hotter, wetter, and delectably sweeter. 

“Would you like some more?”


	3. Atsumu

The ball comes out of nowhere, and while Atsumu promises the nurse he is fine, he isn’t entirely sure. 

He simply can’t seem to take his eyes off the sight of one Ushijima Wakatoshi, dressed in nothing more than athletic shorts that cling to his thighs and a dri-fit tank top that is giving Atsumu a horrible headache. 

He calls it a headache because otherwise it’ll make him address the uncomfortable warm pit in his stomach, the way his chest keeps tightening on every inhale, and the irrational, utterly impossible urge to reach out and...touch. 

In normal circumstances, touching a teammate wouldn’t be such a big deal. But it isn’t the curl of a palm over a shoulder or a muscular back that Atsumu yearns to feel. No. He wants to cup, to palm, to feel the rise and drop of Ushijima’s tits. There is no other word for the gorgeous rise in Ushijima’s chest. He has tits. Tits Atsumu wants to push his face into, and maybe squeeze around the tip of his cock, coming all over them. Ushijima wouldn’t even need to take off the dri-fit. 

“I hope a meteor bonks you,” comes Sakusa’s hiss from his left.

“You see it too, right?” he asks Sakusa.

Sakusa keeps his lips stubbornly shut but Atsumu has long learned to decipher the flare of Sakusa’s nostrils. The bastard is probably imagining worse things than just coming all over Ushijima’s chest. 

“I call dibs on Ushijima’s tits,” Atsumu whispers, before he musters all of his god damned courage and walks over to where Ushijima Wakatoshi is doing his pregame stretches. Oh, this is going to be good. 


	4. Iwaizumi

The red marks, crusted with blood, glare at Iwaizumi, and his breath gets caught in his chest. Has he been the one to do that to Ushijima? The man in mention seems unperturbed by the wild marks that begin somewhere around his shoulders and trail all the way to his hips. Iwaizumi on the other hand can’t tear his eyes away from the sight. They seem so deep, and Iwaizumi’s heart aches at the thought of sweat dripping down, stinging Ushijima as he works out.

“Hold still,” he says, cornering Ushijima in the locker room.

At first, Ushijima holds himself taut, then at the light touch of Iwaizumi’s ointment-covered fingertips, he relaxes.

“It isn’t necessary,” he says, to which Iwaizumi sighs.

“Shut up. I did this so I’ll take responsibility.”

Instead, Ushijima turns around, giving Iwaizumi a stern look anyone else might think is mad. But Iwaizumi knows better. Ushijima is never mad at him, even when Iwaizumi hurts him in the throes of passion.

“You could never hurt me, Hajime.”

Still, Iwaizumi can’t help but stare at that back and fantasize of leaving something of himself, permanent and embedded into the skin for the whole world to see. 


	5. Shirabu

Shirabu’s heart pounds in his ears, and the unerring rock of Ushijima’s hips pushes him harder and harder onto the mattress until Shirabu is holding on to the sheets and gritting his teeth against the onslaught of electricity in his body, the pleasure white hot and damning. If he opens his mouth, he—

“Ushijima-san.” It escapes his lips in a bright scream, and Ushijima’s hand comes to rest on Shirabu's chin, steadying him, then two digits dip into Shirabu's mouth, and he suckles them desperately, biting the first knuckle when a specific fierce push melts his brain. Ushijima’s other hand is heavy on Shirabu’s chest, steadying him, but that’s not where Shirabu wants Ushijima to hold him.

Shakily, Shirabu unwraps a hand from the sheets and covers Ushijima’s warm fingers with it. “N-not there,” he manages through a brilliant shock-wave inside him. His whole body convulses with the punishing rhythm of Ushijima’s thrusts, his toes curl, his thighs tremble and ache from how wide Ushijima has spread him. Against all of Shirabu’s good judgement, he has landed himself in Ushijima’s bed for the umpteenth time despite his proud declaration that the last time should be...well...supposedly, the last time. But like a siren’s call, Shirabu is drawn to Ushijima. 

His skin warms impossibly so when Ushijima’s hand moves under his, sliding upwards, cradling Shirabu’s neck, and when his strong fingers wrap tight enough that Shirabu feels the pressure against his pulse, he can’t help but come hot and fast and messy all over his belly.

But Ushijima doesn’t stop his undulating hips, doesn’t hold back from thoroughly fucking Shirabu to a point past oblivion. All Shirabu can do is lay there and take it, his breath stuttering out of him in a weak staccato, his cock leaking helplessly. The eyes watching him feel primal, bracing, and Shirabu fools himself by thinking that this time, he won’t be released so quickly, that this very hand grasping him at his most vulnerable, most fragile, will hold on. 

How he can still come he has no idea, but when his hazy mind sharpens into consciousness, Shirabu has a mess of sticky come on his belly, chest, and between his thighs, but there’s also Ushijima, broad shouldered and wonderfully naked, gently cleaning him with a wet towel. Shirabu’s body flares red and he tries to seat himself but that’s a haphazard attempt until he can no longer ignore the ache in his hips, in his ass, the shape there is one he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget, stamped through his very core. 

“I can do that,” Shirabu says weakly, but Ushijima continues. “Did you hear me, I said I can do it…”

“Why don’t you stay the night, Shirabu?” Ushijima goes from a holy figure, gilded in gold, to blurry around the edges. Shirabu starts crying. 

**Author's Note:**

> I go on tangents about rare pairs and my love for Ushijima often on twitter as [@kuroosauce](https://twitter.com/kuroosauce)


End file.
